


Souvenirs

by Mendeia



Series: Fate Is A Gift [21]
Category: Mighty Max, The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendeia/pseuds/Mendeia
Summary: The events of Downfall have taken their toll on Max, Virgil, even Morgan. Enter Peter Venkman - friend, ally, Ghostbuster, and therapist. Because at this point? Everybody needs some therapy.
Series: Fate Is A Gift [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/34784
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Grown Up Orphans

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Well, we made it to 2021. Thank goodness.
> 
> This is a short two-chapter intermission between the last big arc and the next one. Figured we should get some closure on Downfall before I rip it all apart again. Guest starring our Ghostbusting friends, because therapy is definitely a thing for Max and Virgil (and Morgan) right now.
> 
> The title for this one and both its chapters are named for lyrics from "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls.
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter walked into the lounge and, without even looking, threw himself onto the couch. Winston _had_ been sitting there reading, but he knew Peter's theatrics well enough and dodged just in time to avoid becoming the cushion under his friend's head.

"Ug." Peter said face down into the couch.

"You okay?" Winston asked.

"Nnngh."

"Very encouraging." He looked up to see Egon trailing after Ray, the former of which bounced into the room eagerly.

"So! What's up? Anything good?"

Egon gestured to the prone Ghostbuster. "Ray says he was on the phone with Max and Virgil."

"Uh oh." Winston set his book well out of the way of possible flailing dramatics and perched on the arm of the couch. "So, what'd our favorite kid and chicken combo have to say?"

"Ppppbbbbbbtt."

"That's particularly insightful," Egon said, eyebrows raising.

But Ray's face was crumbling into distress. "Are they okay? It's not like... _before_ , is it?"

"No." Peter raised his head to look at Ray; even he wasn't enough of a diva to keep a friend worried like that, especially considering what 'before' had meant. "Not like that. Different kind of weird. Maybe less bad. No idea how I'm going to sort it out." And he mushed his face back into the couch.

"Without breaking confidentiality, could you at least give us some indication?" Egon asked.

"Yeah," Winston put in. "We don't want to intrude on anybody's privacy, but if Max is in trouble, I wanna make sure that he's okay."

Peter gave a full-body sigh that mostly just looked like heaving on the couch. Then he pulled his elbows underneath him so he could prop himself up.

"Don't blame me if you want to faceplant when you hear it, too," he said.

Ray grabbed a throw pillow and brandished it like a weapon. "I'm ready."

Winston winked at Egon.

"Fine. The really short version that Max and Virgil just threw at me inside of five minutes is this — somehow the kid has Morgan le Fay, yes _that_ Morgan le Fay, in his mind because she's trapped in some kind of pocket dimension, she forced Max to relive Virgil's memories of the fall of Lemuria and Skullmaster killing a bunch of people, and she hates Virgil's guts for something from the last time she wasn't stuck in a dimensional hole. Oh, and Virgil is also having some kind of Lemurian identity crisis."

Winston didn't realize he was covering his face with his hands until he heard Peter's triumphant "See!"

He peeked out between his fingers to see Ray having actually used the pillow to bury his face, and Egon was rubbing his temples like he did when he got a migraine.

Peter threw his face back into the couch and let out a guttural sound.

Winston wished he'd grabbed a pillow for himself, too. This was definitely the sort of mess that deserved a lot of muffled yelling.

Which Peter proceeded to do until he got distracted and fell asleep.

-==OOO==-

"Egon, they're going to be here any minute and I still have no idea how to talk to Max and Morgan," Peter said. "So unless you've got any brilliant ideas about group therapy where the group is in one person's head, I really don't see what…"

"In fact, I do," Egon said. He had been steering Peter towards his lab more subtly, but now he gave up and just dragged the man in. "I have something for this specific situation already prepared."

"Uh, how, exactly?"

"How many times has one of us been possessed?" Egon asked. "Or had our soul swapped for a demon? Or whatever other variation on such a theme?"

"Too many."

"Right. Remember our first interview with Louis when he thought he was a dog?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, you ruined our only colander to put it on his head. We had to strain pasta through Ray's shirt for a week."

"Thank you for reminding me." Egon shuddered — sweat-stained, cotton-flavored noodles were not pleasant. "But doing so also allowed my computer to visualize the being that was speaking through him. I've built on the idea over the years, since it is not unlikely that someone in a similar circumstance will find their way to us in the future."

Egon rolled a cart out from behind one of his experiments. It held a computer with various extra bits attached to it, a monitor, and a helmet that had more wires than the original (but was not made out of a colander this time).

"Egon, this is great! Why didn't you say you had this thing earlier?"

"First, let's make sure you can use it. I wrote a full manual for it, of course, but you won't read it."

"Nope," Peter said.

Egon handed him a sheet of paper. "So this is the simplified version."

Peter skimmed over the instructions on the paper. "Put on the helmet. Turn on components. Turn the red dial until the image of the additional being is clear on the monitor like tuning into a finicky radio station. If unsuccessful, call Egon." He grinned. "You know me so well."

"I should hope so." Egon took his glasses off to wipe them. "However, there is one limitation. The equipment is highly sensitive to ambient energies by necessity, which means it cannot, under any circumstances, be operated in close proximity to the Containment Unit. You can't even take it to your office. And I would recommend putting the Cosmic Cap well out of reach while it is in use just to be safe."

Peter was still smiling. "If I had to do this in _Jersey_ it would be better than nothing."

"I think the darkroom ought to do nicely. We'll move out everything extraneous to give you enough space. Ray and Winston are working on that now."

Peter shook his head. "I owe you one for this. You guys are the best. You know that, right?"

Egon smiled. "Call this an excellent field test of my equipment, and take care of Max, and we'll be even."

"Virgil, too," Peter reminded him. "Max, Virgil, and Morgan. Sounds like Norman's okay, but the other three…" He let out a breath. "It's never easy with them, is it?"

"I don't think it's easy on anyone who wages war against evil," Egon said, and that was as close as he would get to reminding Peter that he had it worse than the others — because Peter could help everyone else through their troubles, but had little in the way of help for himself besides his team. Peter always professed not to need anyone else but the others, and they did make an effort to listen to him as he did for them, but Egon worried and knew Ray and Winston did too that they just couldn't do enough.

But everyone had their strengths, and Peter was really the only one who was good at mental and emotional development, to say nothing of health. If it could be fixed with tools, with research, with mathematics, with obscure knowledge, the others could step in. But only Peter had the skills and training to know when to speak, when to ask, when to listen, when to wait. And he used them no less masterfully than Egon did his calculations, and no less often.

Peter didn't need to know that Egon's machine had been in its infancy a day prior, and that he had stayed up most of the night to finish it in time; he had enough on his shoulders. The well-being of a boy's mind was about to rest in his hands. The very least Egon could do was make it easier on them both. And he knew perfectly well that Ray and Winston were doing their parts, too. Not just clearing out a room and moving chairs in — they would also distract Norman and whoever wasn't sitting across from Peter and generally help Egon keep the firehouse together while Peter was locked away. Peter would wrestle inner demons and fears; the others would handle logistics, being good hosts, and any actual demons if it came to that.

And Egon knew Peter probably saw right through him, but Peter also knew that this was Egon's way of helping, and he would let him do so without embarrassing him. So Peter just grinned and picked up the helmet to poke inside it, and Egon allowed the silence to speak for them both.

"So, you gonna help me carry this upstairs?" Peter asked finally.

Egon, with a twitch of humor, shook his head. "Nope. I'm sure there's something critical that requires my attention. But if you catch them before they haul the heavy recliner, you can probably sucker Ray and Winston into being your muscle."

"Why before the heavy recliner?"

"Because if you wait until _after_ they move it, they won't want to."

"Oh, good point!" Peter darted out of the room, but not before offering a quick squeeze to Egon's shoulder on the way by. "Hey, guys! Can you do me a huge favor?" he started yelling as he stomped up the stairs.

Egon made himself scarce, just in case. But as he stepped out onto the stairs, he heard the front door opening.

"We aren't taking any walk-ins this week!" Janine yelled — from her angle, she couldn't see the door around Ecto-1.

"How about somebody with an appointment?" Max asked as he rounded the car. "I'm pretty sure we're on Doctor Venkman's super special list."

"Oh, hi Max." Janine smiled. "Yeah, of course. The guys are just setting up."

Egon cleared his throat and headed down to join them. "Good afternoon," he offered.

He watched Max's face carefully. The boy had been here often enough in the last few months as he worked through his therapy with Peter, so any discomfort he had with the nature of this sort of trip had long since vanished. And yet, there was something new in the way Max looked around, in the set of his shoulders and the cant of his head. They didn't tell Egon anything, of course — he was observant, not a student of human behavior — but it was enough for him to recognize the difference.

But it was Virgil whose change in posture was obvious. Egon knew the Lemurian to be proud, confident, and direct. Now, his head was downturned, and he only met Egon's eyes for the barest second, not enough to even be called polite.

Norman raised a hand in greeting, but Egon saw that his attention rarely strayed from the other two.

"Hi Egon. Hey, is there some kind of frequent flyer discount on therapy?" Max asked. "I feel bad about dropping in unexpectedly all the time."

"I assure you, there is nothing for which you should feel guilty," Egon said. "Even had you not saved all our lives directly, your actions have protected this world often enough that it is the least we can do to repay you by whatever means we have at our disposal."

"I like that you just turned me into 'means' there, Egon," came Peter's voice. He spun down the pole and landed easily. But Egon saw the sharpness in his expression already, and wondered how many dozen things he was cataloguing about Virgil and Max at a single glance. He also saw that Peter was keeping himself loose and unthreatening, the way he did with children or people in a blind panic.

Egon wondered what, exactly, Max and Virgil had said about Morgan le Fay — and how painful her past might truly be.

"Hey there," Peter said, drawing up close. "We gotta stop meeting like this, kid." He smiled.

Max smiled, too. "I know. But, I mean, compared to before this is, like, small potatoes."

"It's not small if the need is true," Norman said suddenly.

And Egon saw Virgil flinch, and something in Max's face flickered, too.

"Smart man," Peter said. "So, who wants to go first?"

"The Mighty One," Virgil said too quickly. "And Morgan, as you will have to speak to them together."

Max looked like he wanted to object, but paused. "I was gonna say Virg, but Morgan agrees with him, so I guess it's me. Sorry that this is going to be weird." He shrugged.

"Max, remember who you're talking to." And Peter winked. "Weird is what we do here. So let's get to it."

-==OOO==-

Peter was able to get Egon's machine working without too much trouble, and soon enough he was seated in the big recliner while Max perched in a worn armchair next to a screen that depicted a pale young woman with flowing black hair and eyes that burned silver and made the image a little fuzzy.

"This is pretty cool," Max approved. "So, can you hear Morgan, too, or just see her?"

"It should have sound, but it probably won't sound like her," Peter said. "If the speech synthesizer is weird, we can turn on captions instead. She'll sound a little robotic."

"Well?" Max glanced at the screen beside him. "Give it a try?"

The facial expressions weren't too clear, but Peter could see her open her mouth a bit.

"Hello, Doctor Venkman," the machine said. The tone was light, not harsh as he'd feared.

"It makes you sound like a kazoo through a walkie-talkie," Max said, but he was smiling. "But it's kind of nice to be able to talk to you and not look like I'm talking to myself."

Peter could see enough of Morgan's face to tell she gave a small smile. "It is enough to be so much back in the world. Any voice is better than silence."

"Right." Peter drew both their attention back to himself. "So, we need to lay down some ground rules. Morgan, Max says you know everything he does. That you can see all his thoughts and memories?"

"That is so."

"Okay. So...patient confidentiality is gonna be tough on this one," he said. "Since I can't talk to either of you without the other hearing it."

"It's okay," Max said. He was fidgeting, but not in the frenetic way that made Peter wary. "At least, it's okay for me. I'm getting used to Morgan in my head all the time. But I don't see her thoughts or memories that way — only what she sends me. Morg, are you…?"

"For the purposes of these discussions, I will not say anything to Doctor Venkman I would not say to you as well, Chosen One."

Peter figured that was about the best he could expect. "Okay. Max knows this, but just so I've said it to you, Morgan, anything you choose to tell me in this context will never be repeated. Not to my friends, not to Max's, not to anybody. That's my promise."

"I thank you."

"Then, let's decide what we want to cover. Morgan, I understand you've been through some pretty terrible stuff, and you're still stuck there. And Max, you went through Virgil's memories and it sounds like they were rough on you. Is there anything else I should know about before we get started?"

Max shrugged. Morgan also shrugged.

"Okay. Well, let's open with this. Max, how did you find out you had a legendary person in your head?"

-==OOO==-

Ray and Winston could tell that Virgil was not himself, so they tried to pull him into their distractions along with Norman. Somehow, this turned into the four of them playing rounds of card games at the kitchen table while Egon sat with a scientific journal on the couch. The games still weren't fair, because Virgil was even worse than Egon at counting cards and knowing everything, but his heart wasn't in it and that gave enough of a handicap for the others to stand a chance. Also, Norman was tall enough to see Virgil's cards over his shoulder.

Ray knew that if Peter had been here, or Max, one of them would have turned the whole thing into a competition to see who could cheat best, and they would have been laughing in minutes. Which neither he nor Winston could do, really, and he felt bad that this was the most they could offer to lighten the tension. But he was going to do his best to be a good friend, and that meant sticking it out no matter what.

"Hey, Norman. Got any fours?"

"Go fish."

" _Dang it._ " He drew a five, which he did not need even a little bit. " _Dang it again._ "

Winston laughed. "You take Go Fish more seriously than any person over the age of seven. You know that, right?"

"Hey, winning is winning," Ray said. "And currently, I'm not."

"No kidding."

Norman cracked a smile, but Virgil remained downcast and quiet.

Ray suppressed the urge to sigh. This was going to be a long afternoon.

-==OOO==-

Peter was watching Morgan closely. She didn't respond as well to open-ended questions, but he was making progress when he hit her with something leading, or even provocative.

He was starting to think that Morgan was way too used to having to defend herself against others, and that made him sad.

"So. I know why you did it, but still. You didn't consider that putting Max back into a place where he'd be seeing Skullmaster's evil up close and personal might not be good for him?"

"I…" Her image showed her pressing her lips together, then she spoke. "You are not incorrect. I allowed my anger at Virgil to cause me to act rashly. I did not recognize that the memories I drew from Virgil were similar to those that already burdened the Chosen One." She paused. "You know that I am sorry."

"I know you are, Morg," Max said. "And it's never fun to have an anxiety attack like that, but I still would rather know than not know."

"But I failed to gain your consent. That is my error, and I will not repeat it. You have my word."

"Glad to hear it," Peter said. He was relieved to see that Morgan really did seem to care about Max, and, for all she had been wronged (and he still had no idea how far that went — whenever they got close to her life before being imprisoned, she went stony and uncooperative), she still recognized and actively tried to support Max's autonomy and agency. She made mistakes, of course, but she was trying. And that's about the best he could ask of someone sitting in Max's mind all the time.

Given some of the spirits that had possessed people in his time as Ghostbuster, this could have ended _really differently_ and Peter was beyond grateful he didn't have to start figuring out how to sever the link between them.

Max, for his part, seemed to be a good influence on her, too. He could push her when Peter backed off, and he didn't let her negate her own feelings even when she was clearly loath to discuss them outright. They had developed a camaraderie that looked comfortable, which meant there was trust in place, and friendship.

The only line they wouldn't cross was when Peter asked if Max could shut Morgan out sometimes so he could have privacy. Max absolutely refused. He would not leave her alone in the dark, no matter what Peter said. Morgan even offered to endure it for him if he felt he needed or wanted to speak to Peter without her, but Max wasn't having it.

Well, Peter could live with that. As long as he could make progress with them together, he wasn't going to fight that battle right now. But if it became apparent that Max needed specific attention, and no input from Morgan, then he could work that angle later.

If it came down to it, as much as Morgan had been dealt a bad hand, Max was his patient first. And Max was the Mighty One. And Max was his friend. So if he had to choose between them, he would. Peter even suspected Morgan had realized as much from the knowing look she gave him when he suggested cutting her off temporarily. She didn't even seem surprised, or bothered, by it.

Always good when people know where they stand.

"Okay, so, Max, let's talk about the panic attack."

-==OOO==-

"You know," Winston said after the second round of Uno, "maybe we're going about this the wrong way."

"Hmm?" Ray asked.

Winston set his cards down and looked directly across the table at Virgil. "You know you don't have to wait to talk to Peter, don't you?"

"Excuse me?" Virgil was clearly caught off-guard.

"Something went down, we know that. Something tough on you both. Or, all three." He nodded at Norman.

"Four," Norman said. "Morgan, too."

"Right." Winston ran a hand over his head. "But, Virgil, you don't have to feel like you can't talk to us. We can't do what Peter does, but we're still your friends, you know."

Ray could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Virgil look that surprised.

"I...that is…"

"Winston is correct," Egon said from the couch. "If you choose to wait and confide only in Peter, we won't hold it against you. And none of us is qualified to render an official opinion, of course. But if you are remaining silent because you feel _we_ are unwilling to hear you out, then you are mistaken."

Virgil blinked.

"If the Mighty One were here," Norman said softly, "he would remind you that you are not alone, Virgil. You forget it, but you aren't."

The room sat quietly, cars passing outside the only sound. Ray opened his mouth too soon to say something, but Winston caught his eye and shook his head just in time.

Virgil's eyes roved anywhere but on the faces around him, finally dropping to his hands in his lap.

"Thank you," he said, and if the room hadn't been so quiet, it might not have been audible at all. He cleared his voice and tried again. "I appreciate your concern and your friendship. It has been longer than you know since anyone expressed such sentiments about me — other than Norman and the Mighty One, of course."

He let out a breath and looked up.

"It is not that I choose not to confide in you due to any lack of trust on my part. But…"

Words failed him, but before anyone else could speak, Norman cleared his throat — rescuing Virgil almost by instinct.

"When one has lived for many thousands of years, there is more that hasn't ever been put into words than what has been. And many of those things are painful. It can be hard to piece them out without releasing everything else."

"That," Egon said gently, "is why it is of utmost importance to have those one can trust to share the experiences."

"Yes," Virgil said. "And yet, now that some of the worst moments of the last fifteen thousand years of my life are known by the Mighty One...I would give anything to be alone in my memories again."

The three Ghostbusters exchanged knowing glances.

Virgil didn't need to say any more for them to understand. They had all experienced different kinds of horrors, different kinds of heartbreak, and these were enough to tear holes in each of them. But far worse, always, wasn't the retelling of the events, or having to live with the memories.

It was the shame that came when their own failings were on display before those they most wanted to never fail.

-==OOO==-

Max swallowed against a lump in his throat.

"No, it's...I get it," he said.

Peter was looking at him with that knowing, almost disappointed expression that meant he knew perfectly well that Max wasn't being honest — either with himself or with Peter — and he wanted him to stop it immediately. Usually that meant Max needed to take a breath and let the amorphous feelings in his chest crystalize so he could put them into words.

This time, though, he didn't _want_ them to have words.

"Chosen One," Morgan said softly, "please remember that it is not only natural for your feelings to be complicated, but it is _necessary_. Please let them be as they are. Suppressing them will only deepen your pain."

"Max," Peter said. "Look at me, buddy."

Max lifted his eyes to meet Peter's.

"Just because you care about someone, or love them, or trust them, it doesn't mean they don't make mistakes sometimes. And when that happens, you can be disappointed in them, or feel betrayed or upset. It doesn't make you a bad person if you feel hurt."

"Maybe it's not even me," Max said suddenly. "Morg, are you really sure you're not…?"

"I have my emotions well under control," she said. "What you feel is yours, not mine."

"But…"

"Max." Peter leaned across and actually put a hand on Max's knee. "What do you feel about Virgil when you think about it?"

Tears slipped and Max's hands closed into white-knuckled fists.

" _Angry_. I'm _so angry_ at him."

"Okay," Peter said. "That's good, Max. Thank you for telling me."

"No!" Max's whole body rocked. "No, I can't be mad at him. I can't!" He started to cry harder.

"Why, Max?" Peter held onto his knee. "Why _can't_ you be mad?"

"Because...because if I'm angry...then it's not okay. What he did. And it _has_ to be okay. Because if it isn't...if we're not okay...then...then how can I trust him this time?"

The fight drained out of him and Max covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking.

"And if I can't trust Virgil...I can't save anybody...and I've failed."


	2. Reruns All Become Our History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I know this is a day early, but I am absolutely certain to forget to post tomorrow because there is very exciting sportsball. So I'm putting it up now rather than get behind again.
> 
> Next week, I'll start the posting of an even bigger MM adventure. It's…probably not what any of you expect. I started it as a pure indulgence for myself because it made me happy, and it just…took on a life of its own. It's also the last MM fic I'll post for a while because I'm a hundred miles deep into another fandom at the moment. But we're going out of this run with a flourish, I promise.
> 
> In the meantime, there's a lot going on in the world. Stay safe, everyone.

Morgan forced herself to remain calm. The Chosen One was truly upset, not panicky as he had been right after the revelations of Lemuria, but profoundly distressed. Tears burst from him like twin rivers forcing their way through a dam, and he shook, his skin hot. It was a sort of emotion she had not experienced with him before, though she knew he was no stranger to it.

Had they been alone, she would have pulled him into his own mindscape once more where it was easier to process the feelings without the messiness of the body's response to grief. And she might have offered to help dampen his emotions so that he could manage them slowly a bit at a time. But with Doctor Venkman sitting across from them, she chose to do neither.

The Chosen One trusted this learned man who had been gentle and respectful even as he prodded at her to be better, and Morgan could not deny that he had done far more to help in the past. The Chosen One's mind was filled with wisdom and kindness from this man, the one who had helped him piece together his soul after it was torn asunder by Skullmaster. Morgan was inclined to trust him before she met him properly — now, having experienced his version of healing, she trusted him further.

But that trust could erode if he did not help the Chosen One now.

However, Peter Venkman sat with Max quietly, watching in silence, his hand still on the boy's knee. Morgan could not see him with the Chosen One's eyes shut — the device which allowed her to speak did not grant her any independent senses or awareness, after all — but he was not doing anything she could perceive.

Just as she was about to say something, demand he work his magic with words of wholeness, she sensed him drawing closer to the Chosen One.

"Max," he whispered, "you've been bottling this up for a long time. Letting it out is the first step. It's okay. Let your feelings go. I got you."

The Chosen One's crying grew more intense and Morgan felt as though she were crying too, and perhaps she was.

But when Peter Venkman left his chair and knelt beside the Chosen One so he could draw him into his arms, pressing the Chosen One's head to his chest where they could both feel and hear a steady heartbeat, Morgan felt that she, too, received the embrace.

It had been so long.

Morgan was grateful for Doctor Venkman, who could watch over the Chosen One for a short time — it allowed her the chance to revel in being held, and to mourn the last time she had felt so safe.

-==OOO==-

"We should do something about dinner," Ray said a while later.

After Virgil's admission, the card game lost its small amount of appeal, so they had settled into idle silence punctuated by awkward conversation. But Ray was watching the clock and figured that, unless something was a lot more wrong than Peter knew, he and Max would take a break soon and they would be hungry.

And he was getting hungry, too.

"I bet the five of us together can get a meal together in no time," Winston said, standing up. He was grateful for something productive to do, and something to take Virgil's mind off the thoughts that still chased each other across his face.

"Four of us," Ray said. "It's Egon's night for dishes."

"And thus, I am spared the actual preparation. Thank you for remembering," Egon said from his place on the couch. He had actually read through all his scientific journals throughout the afternoon and was now editing a journal article of his own with a red pen.

"What's in the kitchen?" Winston asked, making his way to the fridge. "We got enough for stir fry? Or should we go pasta?"

Ray looked over at Norman and Virgil. "Any idea what you want to eat? Or what Max might be interested in?"

"By my calculations, pasta would be comforting," Virgil said, perking up slightly.

"I like pasta," Norman said. "Cheesy pasta?"

"You and cheese." Virgil shook his head and a hint of a smile made its way onto his face. "I believe it is fortuitous that the Mighty One does not live in Wisconsin or I should fear for the entire state's supply."

"I've just decided I'm taking my next day off in Wisconsin," Norman said.

"How often do you get days off?" Ray wanted to know.

"One in five thousand years," Norman said.

Winston and Egon and Ray stared at him.

Norman shrugged. "What?"

"That's...dedication," Winston said finally.

"Admirable, I suppose, if entirely unreasonable," Egon added.

"Okay," Ray said, shaking his head. "Let's get this show on the road. Who's doing what?"

"Do not leave Norman in charge of ingredients," Virgil said, pushing off his chair. "Or we shall have a proportion of cheese to all other items that no one else will enjoy."

Norman pouted.

"Then you're on chopping duty," Winston decided. "Will Max eat veggies in his tomato sauce?"

"Yes." Virgil joined them in the kitchen and investigated the options. "He will certainly express displeasure, but that is only because he is of an age where it is expected that he be a pickier eater than he truly is."

"But Morgan hates celery," Norman put in. "And the Mighty One will eat it, but he will make a face the whole time because she's telling him why she thinks it's awful."

"O...kay." Winston shoved the celery back in the crisper drawer. "Everything else okay?"

"As far as we know."

"I confess, I did not consider how difficult it must be to have a long-term experience of shared mental and physical space," Egon said, tipping his head back so he could look at the ceiling and think. "Even if it is not Morgan le Fay herself experiencing the food, I suppose the disconnect between her preferences and Max's might not always be comfortable for either of them."

Norman shrugged. "She does like ice cream."

"Yeah, but everybody likes ice cream," Ray said. "Hey, do we have any for dessert?"

"No. Slimer ate it all." Winston sighed. "But I bet we could get some before they come out of the darkroom if someone wanted to run to the store."

"I will go," Egon offered. "The walk would be pleasant, and I am not presently helping in any particular way."

"Maybe grab some bread for garlic toast?" Ray asked.

Norman grinned. " _Cheesy_ garlic toast?"

Egon smiled and moved towards the stairs. "I will see what I can do. In the meantime, please try not to set the kitchen on fire. Or, if you do, remember to use the fire extinguisher in the cabinet, not a proton pack."

"That was one time!" Ray yelled.

"One's enough, Ray!" Winston yelled back.

Egon left them bickering and hoped to find the firehouse undamaged when he returned.

-==OOO==-

Max cried even though he wasn't completely sure why. He just _felt_ so much. And the pounding in his chest and the burning in his eyes and the crush of words that bubbled up inside just forced their way through him to result in sobbing.

If it were anybody besides Peter, he might have been bothered. Even Norman and Virgil hadn't seen him cry all that often. But Peter had, and had seen worse. And Peter never looked at him after crying like he was dumb, or weak, or needed to be protected. He just looked at him the way he always had. Like crying was no different from breathing or talking.

It helped.

Finally thoughts started to come back into the blank space where there had just been feelings before, and Max felt his tears slow down. He took several deep breaths, matching them to a cadence Peter led him through without a word. But he stayed where he was, leaning his face on Peter's shirt, his forehead digging into a button, with Peter holding him. The arm around his shoulders was steady and tight enough to comfort, and the hand on the back of his neck under the helmet was gentle enough to soothe.

"Better?" Peter asked softly as Max fell silent.

Max nodded.

"Need a minute?"

He nodded again.

But he reached out. _Sorry about all this, Morg._

To his surprise, Morgan spoke through the helmet device that hadn't been fully dislodged.

"Do not apologize for your honest feelings, Chosen One. Please...just let yourself feel what you need. That is why we are here."

"Knew I liked her," Peter joked to Max.

He felt Morgan smile in return.

That helped, too. Morgan had seen all his memories, but it was different to feel these things right alongside him. And yet she wasn't in his mind any differently, and her gentle protectiveness hadn't really changed, either. Max knew she could regulate her emotions far better than he, but he got the sense anyway that she didn't think less of him for his fears, or for bawling all over Peter's shirt.

_I don't_ , she whispered just for him.

Max sent her a wave of gratitude.

Finally he felt ready to face what had just happened and pulled back. Peter handed him a box of tissues and returned to his seat, neither staring at Max nor avoiding looking at him — just being there as though nothing had changed.

Which made sense to Max, because really, nothing had. The only new thing was that he had admitted something that was already present.

"No rush," Peter said. "Take your time."

But Max pulled the helmet back on more tightly and glanced at the image of Morgan to the side to make sure she was ready. She rolled her eyes at him, which wasn't entirely visible on the screen but he very much felt it anyway. He drew in a deep breath.

"Okay."

Peter nodded. "So. You said you can't be angry at Virgil because it makes it hard to trust him, and that makes you a failure. Let's start working backwards. How would you be a failure?"

"If I don't trust Virgil, then I'm going to be second-guessing him when we're out trying to save the world," Max said, and the recent crying made the words come easier. "He's always known what we need to do and how to do things. I mean, sometimes I do, but a lot of the time he figures it out and tells me what to do. But...if I can't trust him...what if he says go left and I go right? And the bad guy wins?"

"Do you really think that would happen?" Peter asked.

Max shut his eyes, considered. Finally shook his head.

"No."

"Why not?"

When Max looked at him, he felt a little more confident. "Because...it just wouldn't. Because no matter what, if it's about saving the world, then I _do_ trust Virgil."

Peter leaned forward. "Then what about when it _isn't_ about saving the world? What about when it's just you?"

The lump came back into Max's throat and he nodded.

"I…I've never been mad at Virgil like this. He lied to me. He told me no more secrets, and then he kept them. Not just about Lemuria. About Bran, too. And...I get it. I know why he did it. He was...he was protecting me."

"He was also protecting himself," Morgan put in.

Max expected Peter to tell her not to interrupt, but he actually looked at her and gave her a nod. "What do you mean by that?"

"In both cases, Virgil kept information from the Chosen One. With Branislav Kovac, it was because he was uncertain and in doubt. With the history of Lemuria, however, it was because he feared the Chosen One's response to the knowledge. Virgil has failed to be honest when it puts him at risk, either of pain or of not being as superior as he pretends to be."

"Hmm." Peter looked back at Max. "What do you think about that? Is she right?"

"Kinda? I mean...it's tough on Virg to be wrong. He hates it."

"So does Egon, but he doesn't usually avoid giving us important information just because of that."

"Yeah, but for Virgil, this was really personal. I mean, with Bran, it meant that Virgil didn't know something about my destiny, and that always bothers him. And with Lemuria...I mean, he helped Skullmaster kill so many people. He...he was going to kill me. He...he...he _made_ me the Mighty One, sort of."

"And does that mean it's okay for him to break a promise?"

"No." Max was surprised at how quickly he answered. "I mean...no, I guess not. But, I get it. I didn't tell them about Morgan right away, either."

"This isn't about what you did or didn't tell them, Max. This is about how you feel about Virgil. And the truth is that it's okay if you feel hurt, or angry, even if it _isn't_ fair. You don't have to be magnanimous and superhuman about your feelings, kiddo. You can be resentful and angry and hurt just like everybody else."

Max blinked.

Peter smirked back.

"He makes an excellent point," Morgan said.

"I think you've been holding yourself to an impossible and unhealthy standard," Peter said. "You want to forgive Virgil for breaking a promise, and you don't want to be angry, because that's what you think heroes are _supposed_ to do. But the only thing you're really supposed to do is be who you are and feel what you feel. Even if it isn't justified. That's being _human_ , Max."

"But…" Max's breath was coming fast in his chest. "But I'm...I'm supposed to be better."

"Better than who?"

The answer broke from him in a whisper. "Skullmaster."

"You think you're like Skullmaster if you get angry and blame people for the things they do that hurt you?"

Max shrugged. "Or just...Skullmaster _hurt_ Virgil. Worse than anything. And if I don't...if I get mad at him...if I don't make it okay…" he felt tears crawling back up, "I don't want him to be hurt anymore."

"And that's why you are nothing like Skullmaster," Peter said. "But you _are_ human. You can be angry at Virgil, you can feel that he betrayed you, and it doesn't mean you're evil."

Peter paused until he held Max's full attention.

"You are allowed to be hurt, Max, even if that _also_ hurts someone else. And it doesn't make you any less of a hero. Heroes are allowed to bleed, too."

And Max felt a shadow inside shatter and slip away.

-==OOO==-

By the time Egon returned to the firehouse, dinner was nearly ready and nothing was on fire. Though one ladle was bent at an extremely improbable angle, and one cutting board had lost a corner somehow.

Egon decided he just did not want to know.

He focused on putting the ice cream in the freezer and hiding it behind the vegetables just in case Slimer came up to steal some; Slimer was currently trying to get Janine to share some of her leftovers from lunch, and he hoped the little guy would stay out from underfoot for a while longer. As much as they all tolerated and maybe even liked Slimer, this was not the day for his antics.

"Hey, smells good!"

Everyone turned to see Peter with an arm around Max.

Peter's face was loose and open as usual, a little quirk of humor in his eyes. But Egon noticed that he stayed close to Max, and possibly even steered the kid as if he didn't want Max getting too close to them. But Egon also saw that Max's face was a little flushed and his eyes were very red, even though his smile was genuine enough.

Egon _also_ noticed that Peter had put a sweater on over his shirt, and given that the firehouse was more than warm enough, he wondered if there was a reason for that. Maybe one related to Max's red eyes.

"Tell you what, though. I've got an idea," Peter said, and it was supposed to be casual and Egon would eat his jumpsuit if it was really just a sudden inspiration. "Virgil, what if you and I go eat downstairs. These guys haven't met Morgan yet, and I think she's tired of my face."

Max looked up at him suddenly, and a flicker of understanding went through his eyes. "Actually, she had fun being able to talk on her own, so it would be nice for her to interact with everybody else."

But he turned quickly to Virgil. "Not that she doesn't like you, Virg. Promise."

"I know," Virgil said, drawing himself up. "But I believe we have had enough time together for now. And, I confess, I would appreciate a quiet meal."

"Perfect. Somebody make me a plate? I'll go get Egon's talk-to-ghosts-in-your-head-even-when-they-aren't-really-ghosts thingy." And he disappeared back towards the darkroom.

"You don't have to do this, Virgil," Winston said. "You can eat with us first. I'm sure nobody minds."

"I appreciate that, but honestly, I would rather begin this sooner." Virgil shrugged. "My thoughts are not comfortable, and I am certain I am not much good for company right now. This is best for everyone."

And Egon didn't miss that he glanced at Max when he said it.

-==OOO==-

"So," Peter said as they settled plates on mismatched end tables down in the Mousehole, "I heard a lot from Max's side, but I really want to hear yours."

"Of course." Virgil picked at his food, knowing well he would not eat much of it. "Where shall I begin?"

"Would you rather start with Lemuria, or with Max acting strangely?"

Virgil sighed. "Let us approach the more difficult subject first. But I ask that you not even speak of this to Egon. I will tell him the true tale of Lemuria someday."

"When you're ready and not before," Peter said. "He'll never hear a word from me."

"Very well. Approximately fifteen thousand years ago…"

-==OOO==-

Winston watched the screen where Morgan looked animated discussing...whatever it was with Egon. He couldn't really tell the difference between magic and science sometimes, and that was before Ray brought up alchemy, but the girl looked happy and Egon's eyes were wide like when he got a new book in the mail. Max, on the other hand, seemed content enough to enjoy his ice cream and rest while his friends filled up the silence around him.

But Winston sidled up to Norman at the other end of the room.

"Any reason you're avoiding her?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You gonna tell me about it?"

"No."

"Does she know why?"

"I don't know."

"Does Max?"

"No."

"Should he?"

"Possibly." Norman shrugged. "But I gave my word a long time ago to someone and the time hasn't come to break it yet."

"Okay, that's not ominous or anything," Winston said.

"Life gets complicated when you have thousands of years of promises competing with each other," Norman said.

Winston shuddered. "Yeah, here's hoping I never find that out."

Norman unfolded his big arms to clap Winston on the shoulder. "You're a good friend to the Mighty One. Thank you for being concerned. But this must wait until it is time. Until then, it is better for everyone if I keep my distance from Morgan."

"Pretty sure that goes against whatever Peter's been talking about with Max and now Virgil all day."

Norman nodded. "Possibly. But, even so, this promise is too important to risk."

-==OOO==-

"Wow. That's...a lot." Peter rubbed his head, smearing sauce on his forehead.

"Indeed."

"Okay." He visibly pulled himself back under control. "So, let's talk about what's eating at you. I assume some of it is just having the kid see all of that."

"The Mighty One should never have had to bear such a burden." Virgil looked at his feet. "If I had told him, Morgan would not have felt the need to reveal everything in such a way. I could have avoided so much suffering on his part if I had been less afraid."

"Maybe. But it isn't your fault Morgan did that. That was her choice, and her mistake."

"Still. I gave her such an opening."

"You might have trouble believing it, but Max was pretty clear that he doesn't regret knowing, even if it is pretty upsetting stuff. That kid always wants the truth because he thinks it will help him fight in the future. And he might be right about that, huh?"

"I suppose."

"Don't you always talk about how destiny is three parts? Fate, chance and…?"

"Free will," Virgil answered automatically.

"Right. So, fate brought Morgan and Max together, and your free will meant you didn't tell him about your past, but she did. So...isn't it possible that this was always how he was destined to find out?"

"Perhaps." Then Virgil sighed, deeply. "And while that might have comforted me before, now that the Mighty One has...encouraged me to reconsider my Lemurian heritage…"

"Hmm." Peter's eyes went sharp. "So, if you throw out the framework you've always used to understand things, you can't just hand-wave this sort of thing anymore."

"But if I continue to cling to my Lemurian past, then I am not only failing to live up to my purpose as the final Eldest, but I am refusing a gift from the Mighty One himself. He...he sees this as my freedom."

"And what do you see it as?"

Virgil's voice cracked. "The death of all I have ever known."

"But do you want it anyway? Even if it means a change to everything you've thought about yourself for as long as you've been alive."

"I...I don't know."

-==OOO==-

"Slimer! That is _not_ your ice cream! Give it back!"

"Look out, Ray!"

The little ghost babbled and darted away, nearly sliming Max where he perched over the setup that gave Morgan a voice protectively.

"He can keep it if he promises not to slime me or Morgan's TV!" he yelled.

Slimer squealed in triumph. He spun a happy circle in the air.

And Norman snatched Max's ice cream from his hands in one quick move.

"Mighty One, catch!" Norman threw the bowl like a frisbee and Max pulled it out of the air without spilling a drop.

But Slimer shouted and charged.

"Quick, Ray, get him his own bowl!"

"I thought we weren't encouraging this behavior!"

"We are now!"

-==OOO==-

"Honestly, Virgil, this is more complicated than something we can fix in a couple of hours," Peter said finally. "Identity is always tricky. And you've had thousands of years to cement yours. Even if you wanted to change wholeheartedly, it would take time."

"Yes, I know that."

"So what do you really want out of speaking to me?"

Virgil went quiet for a long moment, considering. At last he looked up.

"Who I am and how I must approach my duties...this is something that I must find with time and practice and, yes, more discussions with you."

Peter nodded. "Definitely that."

"But...I do not feel that I can face the Mighty One until I…"

"Until what, Virgil?" He kept the question light.

"Please, is he all right? He has been...not quite himself when he is around me. I know I failed him."

"What do you think is happening?"

"I think...whatever you discussed with him today must involve his own unresolved feelings about me and what I have done. What I failed to do. The promise I broke. And...I am grateful he spoke to you, but he has not spoken to me."

"Is that what you need to feel better for today? Knowing that everything else will come with time?"

"I believe, if I can speak to the Mighty One honestly again, I can work on my own shame that it ever came to this point more easily. But I am even afraid to approach him. He is trying so hard to be strong for me, I think he has forgotten that he is still just a boy."

"He did," Peter said. "But I reminded him."

"Thank you for that."

Peter glanced at his watch. "Well, it's getting late, and everybody has a bedtime, so let's get the air cleared between you two tonight. Then, when he goes back to school this week, you come out here. We'll start every other day for now and see how that goes."

"This is why I wanted you to begin with him. My feelings are...complex, but ultimately it is more a conceptual change I must make. The Mighty One, however...seemed not even to realize he was not himself."

"Kid's the bravest person I know," Peter said with a smile, "and sometimes that means he's _too_ brave about things. He needed to be reminded that he's human. Now, let's go remind him that you're there for him even when what he needs help with is you."

And so within a few minutes, Peter had extracted Max and Norman from the ice cream fight happening upstairs — and he was not looking forward to cleaning that up, but it wasn't even his fault so maybe he could get out of it — and led them back to the Mousehole where Virgil stood almost awkwardly, shifting his weight.

"That was quick," Max said right away. "Are you really done just like that?"

"In fact, no. But the greater work will take many days," Virgil said. "For the moment, I have but one question that needs answering and only you can do so."

Max glanced at Peter nervously, but then squared his shoulders. "Okay."

"Will you...will you tell me what…?" He broke off. "I am not even sure how to ask."

"Max," Peter said, "Virgil wants to know what you need to say to him in order to feel complete again."

And that phrasing made them both relax, even as Max rubbed his hands together nervously.

"Oh."

"It's okay," Peter reminded him. "Virgil wants you to be honest. And so do I."

"I can do that." He drew in a deep breath, and met Virgil's eyes unflinchingly. "I just...I need to say that I'm angry with you for keeping everything from me like that. It hurt me. And I don't want you to do it again."

"Oh, my boy." Virgil reached out and very gently gripped the boy's shoulders. "I am sorry. I am...so sorry. I should never have broken my promise to you. You have every right to be angry." He gulped. "Thank you for telling me."

"And...I'm sorry for not telling you about Morgan sooner. I was trying to protect her, but it means I wasn't telling you the truth, either, and that was wrong, too."

"But I can respect the difference — you were trying to safeguard a friend, whereas I was merely protecting my own feelings. I do not hold it against you."

Max shook his head. "It's...it's not wrong to protect your feelings. I know it would have hurt you to tell me, and I don't want you to be hurt, but I also didn't want to feel like I couldn't trust you. So...I think sometimes we have to be okay with getting hurt if it means we're being honest."

"I believe you are correct, Mighty One."

"And, hey." He managed a smile. "If we face it together, even when it hurts, then neither of us has to feel like that on our own. Right?"

Virgil felt a knot in his chest unfurl. "Yes, Mighty One. I would like that very much."

"Okay." Max held out a hand. "New promise. Even if it hurts, we'll try to be honest with each other. Maybe especially when it hurts. So we can...we can get past it together. Right?"

Virgil gripped his fingers. "Indeed."

Norman smiled at both of them and put his big hand on top of both of them. "Not that you asked me, but I promise, too. And this time, I'm going to keep the two of you to this promise better."

Max huffed a breath. "Morgan says the same thing. She's tired of me not yelling at Virg when I want to."

And somehow that started Virgil laughing. "I suppose that is some measure of progress between us, then."

"Yeah, it is," Max said, "even if she's being stubborn about it."

"As long as she turns that stubbornness towards continuing to support and guide you, I am comfortable with that," Virgil said, catching Max's eyes and holding them. "I know we have had our differences, but now I am very grateful to know you have someone else to support you. Someone to guard your heart, even from me."

"Well, hopefully nobody will need to do that again any time soon," Max said.

"Not with us around," Norman said. "We've got your back, Mighty One, and yours, Virgil. No more letting these things get the better of us. There's enough evil out there trying to hurt us."

And Peter, forgotten off to the side, smiled. They had more work to do, but together, he felt confident they could keep each other safe, and honest. There simply wasn't a force out there strong enough to break them apart completely.

But somewhere deep in his gut where the Ghostbuster instincts lived, he felt a cold churn of foreboding anyway.


End file.
